Not Fiction, Timelord Logic
by Hollywoodx4
Summary: "He takes in the sight; Rose, usually energetic and flirtatious and really sometimes too much for his feelings to handle, contained in a singular moment. It's as though this ship has designed the room as a pretty watercolor painting to which Rose is the beautiful main attraction, the painter's muse."


It's her third cup of tea in two hours, and she leaves the room in her same, half-sneaky silence she used to enter.

She's dangled over the armchair- the big, red one with the sink-in cushions-, her hair falling mischievously over one of its arms as her legs dangle over the other, book propped open on her stomach.

Her tea is beside her on the floor, and damn it all if he hasn't told her one million times-

She grins, only a slight movement, but he grins back as though they are having a silent conversation.

He's not watching her; he's simply making sure the TARDIS is working alright.

He takes in the sight; Rose, usually energetic and flirtatious and really sometimes too much for his feelings to handle, contained in a singular moment. It's as though this ship has designed the room as a pretty watercolor painting to which Rose is the beautiful main attraction, the painter's muse.

She has a fire going, and his attention is only drawn to this when he hears it crackling along like a soundtrack to the otherwise silent picture-moment. The soft light seems to meld into his Rose's form, casting shadows from random places and settling slightly in her downturned eyes so that he can just make out the hint of its illumination in their already sparkling nature.

Her eyes scan the page, darting from line to line, syllable to syllable, and he is rapt-rather, he is entranced by this simple moment. She grins again and this time, a slight chuckle comes out as well and it takes all he can not to laugh right along with her.

"Doctor," She acknowledges his presence without looking up from her book, and he wonders with a start just how long she's been aware of his presence in the doorway. He doesn't answer her at first, a bit too spellbound to notice that Rose has now looked up from her book, her eyes trailing across his figure in one slow, careful motion. She realizes with a slight smile that he has shed his suit jacket, and the sleeves of his white undershirt are now rolled up to his elbows. His hair has been ruffled and messed with the effects of what she now knows as his habit of subconscious concentration. Rose shakes off a few choice comments that come to her mind, and instead decides on calling his name again.

He snaps out of his reverie and gives a slight, seemingly peaceful chuckle.

"What d'you need, Doctor?" She sits up slightly in her chair and her curtain of hair follows, catching messily in front of her face. She pushes back its stray strands. Rose wonders upon looking at his messy state if he has yet finished tinkering with the 'whatchamacallit' he's been working on. "Have we landed yet?"

"Far from it," He replies, chuckling. Regretfully, he lets his eyes linger one last time on the picturesque scene before him. In the back of his mind something urges him to stay, to ask Rose to read from the book that has caught her attention so fully, but he ignores it. She watches the Doctor push his sleeves up just a smidge higher and sigh.

"I should continue my work, erm-" He leaves her with the las hints of a temporary 'goodbye' trailing behind him and she shakes her head, taking another long sip of tea before returning to her book.

He finds himself passing by the library again an hour later; a long, tiresome hour in which thoughts of TARDIS parts and calculations turn into, well, _Rose _parts. And really he's quite ashamed, the Doctor, but decides that he cannot work properly until he's let himself have one more lingering look of the picture that is Rose in the library's recliner.

He's aware of the fact that she's crying before he sees it, able to hear the heart-shattering requiem of her muffled sobs from a few doors down. He makes haste to the library, his pushed up sleeves rolling down with the quick movements of his arms.

"Rose?" He turns the corner and sees her, now sat up in the armchair, her pretty blonde tresses a curtain to hide her face. Upon hearing her name Rose attempts to choke back her tears, looking down at her book to further conceal herself. This does not work, however, for the book only triggers more tears.

The Doctor takes the book from her hand, shifting her over gently so that they can both fit on the now cozily small recliner. It does not take long until Rose has clambered onto his lap, hiding her face in his shirt.

"Why are you crying?" His voice is gentle, kind. This is a change from his 'defender of the universe' voice, full of harsh tones and biting remarks. _This _is his Rose Tyler voice.

She points to the book, still in his hand, and he turns it over to look at the cover.

_The Time Traveler's Wife._

"Mum thought it was a clever gift, was so proud of herself." Rose speaks softly, still attempting to catch her breath from crying. "It was a good book, but-"

"But-"

"I just…I couldn't stop thinking about…" She draws in a long, half-shaken breath and sighs, her head still resting on his chest. He smiles softly, knowingly, down at her.

"Ahh, but you see," He captures a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb, shaking his head endearingly. "_I _am not Henry Detamble. I'll never leave you."

"It wasn't his fault, though. He never meant to leave her, never got the choice, and still he had to…"

"But that's the thing. I never intend on leaving you, Rose Tyler, therefore I never will. Basic Timelord logic, really." He smiles, a cheeky sort of thing that seems to reach the tips of his ears, and she can't help but grin too. For a moment the pair is content watching the last of the flames flickering away slowly above the reddened coals of the fire, listening to its desperate crackling. He can feel her breathing even; feel her body finally relax against his.

"I already knew you weren't Henry Detamble though, Doctor." Rose finally breaks the silence by mumbling into his shirt.

"And how is that?" He asks, curiosity suddenly spiking within him. Rose turns, tipping her head up to flash him a mischievous grin.

"I've heard people describe him as astoundingly handsome, that's all."

"Oi!" His mouth opens in shock and he removes himself from the chair, dumping her from his lap in the process. She giggles at him and watches as he putters around the library, rebuilding the fire before moving to grab a box from the corner. He shakes it so that she can hear its contents and she groans, sending him a look of refusal.

"Oh yes, for ruining our perfectly good moment you now owe me a game of Trouble, and you're not allowed to back out." She didn't even try to move, because he had already pulled the coffee table between them, setting the game board atop it.

"You, Rose Tyler, are going down." He teased as he made his first move. The fire rekindled itself, and although the painting of the silent library was now altered with their raucous shouting and banter, the Doctor still found it to be a pretty brilliant one.


End file.
